


Uchikizu na Tsubaki

by Mitsuhachi



Category: Bleach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-07
Updated: 2008-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitsuhachi/pseuds/Mitsuhachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tea ceremony on the Kuchiki grounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uchikizu na Tsubaki

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a good example of a tea ceremony; I cut a lot of the process out so it wouldn't bog down the story. But...just. Bear that in mind.

Captain Ukitake smiles at her paternally as she reports back from patrol. He’s too pale in the afternoon sun; she wonders if he’s sick again. “Thank you all for your hard work,” he says, and she’s on her way out the door with everyone else when he calls her back. “Ah—Rukia-chan, I spoke with your brother earlier. He hoped you would drink a cup of tea with him, once you got back.” He leans more heavily on his desk, smiles again, and she tries to arrange a similar expression on her own face without much success.

“Thank you, sir,” she manages after a minute, discreetly pulling in a deep breath to calm herself. “Did he say when he’d expect me?” Captain Ukitake only shrugs apologetically, though, which means Nii-sama is probably already disappointed with her for being late. “I see,” she says. “Thank you.”

***

She comes in her spare uniform, has no time to divine the proper kimono Nii-sama will expect—is it too late in the season for the one with the wisteria he’d given her last year?—doesn’t want to antagonize him further if by some miracle he’s not angry with her yet. Her hakama catch on the garden gate, and she has to consciously slow down, force herself not to hurry. She washes her hands at the little stone fountain outside, and is pleased to see them steady. Nii-sama’s face is perfectly calm when he comes out to greet her, his bow perfectly correct. She wants to ask why he’s taking this time for her, wants to know what kind of test this is, whether she’d already failed. She bows instead. Nii-sama turns without a word, the small door to the tea house forcing him to bend his neck low, and Rukia tries not to think about the graceful lines of his body—so impossibly strong, solid—as she creeps through behind him.

The scroll in the little alcove has calligraphy that she reads, after a minute of squinting, as “lingering days”. A white camellia in a glass bowl floats below it, the edges of the petals bruised. She has no idea why Nii-sama picked this blossom out of the hundreds of perfect ones on the grounds. His eyes are heavy on her as she comes to sit near him. The water boiling in the kettle hisses and roils.

The cakes Nii-sama hands her are from the real world, much sweeter than he likes. She wonders how he knew she had a taste for them, when he’d gotten them, _why_. “Thank you for inviting me to this tea,” she says dutifully. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” He almost smiles.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” he murmurs, voice low and deep. She forgets the sound of it, always unexpectedly sensual. The water splashes as he purifies the tea-making tools. His gestures are elegantly minimal as he scoops out the tea, pours the water, whisks it for her to drink. She burns her tongue watching the muscles move in his wrists. For a long moment, neither of them speaks. “Could you…” he hesitates, wiping down the bowls. “Is it possible that you could forgive me, someday?” She doesn’t know what to say. The diplomatic calm he usually wears is gone, face young-looking, vulnerable. It makes it easy to reach out to him, one hand wrinkling the sleeve of his elegant kimono.

“I know of nothing you have done that could require such a thing,” she says seriously, looking up into his eyes. She can see his throat work when he swallows silently, without looking away, can feel the movement of his shoulders broadcasting his intent. She doesn’t move when his hand slides up her arm to settle at the back of her neck, when his lips dip down to press warm and moist against hers. “Nii-sama…”

“It’s not what I’ve done,” he whispers, pulling back only enough that their lips brush with every word. Her hands are shaking as he moves back away. “Though I have certainly done enough.” He closes his eyes. The fire under the kettle has died. The teahouse is quiet. “Thank you for having come,” he says finally. He won’t meet her eyes.

“Thank you for having me,” she replies, forcing her fingers to uncurl from his sleeve. He slides open the little door for her, and when he bows, face shuttered again, she doesn’t know what to do but leave.


End file.
